Chapter 5
George had been in a funk for the last couple of days, getting little to no sleep. He was very tired, and wished that these dreams would stop haunting him. He had foregone hunting for another victim, thinking his volatile demeanor would likely cause him to over think what he was doing, and thereby make a costly error that would get him captured. Or worse, hung.
He found himself wishing that he'd never agreed to the endeavor that the Black Knight had pretty much thrown into his lap. He longed for his home on Earth. There he could at least medicate himself when he had trouble sleeping, even though he couldn't remember having this sort of trouble back home.
It almost felt like his conscience was having a little war, prodding him from either shoulder like the cartoon versions of an angel and a devil. Only in the twisted version he saw now, he was perched on one shoulder, urging himself to kill again. On the other shoulder sat the Black Knight, promising a lifetime of misery and torment if George didn't follow his orders.
Maybe all I need is some fresh air, he thought. Maybe the Black Knight is using the land of dreams to persuade me back onto the path he had set for me. Maybe it is some sort of hypnotic effect, caused by something inside the Outpost. Something that the Black Knight is using to control me like a puppet.
The door whispered shut behind him as he walked outside. Just beyond the place where he'd beheaded his last victim was a small grove of trees. He went over to them and sat down, leaning his back against the thickest of the bunch. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he breathed deeply, closing his eyes and trying to relax. He could feel the late day sun, warming one side of his face.
George awoke some time later, how much time had passed he wasn't sure. The sun was down and there was a slight chill in the air. He rubbed his face briskly and stood up to stretch. For the first time in days, he had actually slept! Even if it had only been a few hours, he felt completely refreshed.
Suddenly, he began to hear a sound that he hadn't heard in quite some time. The bank of floodlights atop the Outpost flashed on, blinding him temporarily until his eyes began to adjust. Once they did, he found the source of the sound. Several of the rat-like mechanical creatures had apparently decided it was time to mow the grass.
Brushing off his initial insecurity about their intentions, after a brief recollection of his earlier dream of being attacked by the Black Knight's mechanical minions, he made his way toward the horse standing off to one side of the Outpost.
As he approached, the horse turned one of its heads to look at him. He stopped for a moment as his dream resurfaced again. He imagined the horse, eyeing him malevolently, with its glowing red eyes. Maybe it was the lighting, causing the horse's eyes to look that way. Or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, causing him to think such things.
The horse turned its head away from him, apparently losing interest. George watched it carefully for a moment, studying it for any signs of ill intent. Satisfied that everything appeared to be normal, he strode toward it again, cursing his overactive imagination.
Swinging himself into the saddle, he gently nudged the pommel in the direction of the nearest town, which lay only a few hours to the south.
This was much better. The rhythmic plodding of the beast's heavy footfalls soothed him. He knew something else that would relax him, too. Killing again. His victims wouldn't agree, as oftentimes his outward display of anger toward them was all they could see.
They didn't see the stress melting away from him as he tortured them, or the inner joy that he felt when he saw the fear in their eyes, the trembling of their bodies. The power he held over his victims, until he severed their heads from their bodies, was euphoric. He could still feel this way, during the period of time between kills, simply by gazing at the heads he kept as trophies, reliving and relishing every moment.
But as the heads began to decompose, they started to lose their luster. Just as their features would begin to sag and fall away from their skulls, so too would his memory of the kill. That was when he knew it was time to find another.
The next couple of hours passed relatively fast, his daydreams providing a welcomed distraction. He piloted the horse to the edge of the woods. The town he sought lay a couple of hundred feet away. He could see several twinkles of light coming from many of the homes before him.
George dismounted, and keeping himself crouched low, crossed about half the distance between the woods and town. He then knelt down for a few minutes to search for roaming guards.
When he was satisfied that either there were no guards right now, or they were patrolling the other side of town, he rushed as quietly as possible to the first building he could get to.
Poking his head around the corner of the building, he looked for the nearest window with light coming from it. He spotted one, two houses away. Sticking to the shadows, he made his way over to it.
Once there, he peeked inside. No good. A man was visible, tucking his children into bed for the night. Even if there was a woman inside somewhere, it would be too risky to get her out without getting caught. He ducked his head back down and looked for another lighted window.
He spotted another house just on the other side of the dirt road running through town. He checked again to make sure there weren't any guards nearby before exposing himself by crossing the road. When he saw that the coast was still clear, he made his move.
Again, he poked his head up to look. Jackpot! In the window he saw a slim, red-haired woman in her night clothes, brushing her hair. He watched her for a minute, patiently waiting to see if there was a husband in the house somewhere that just hadn't come into the room yet.
The woman set the brush down on a small table beside her bed, then cupped a hand behind the candle that stood burning on the same table, and blew it out.
His heart pounding with anticipation, George ducked down and began sneaking around the house to find a way inside. As he rounded the corner, he nearly tripped over what looked to be a wooden sign. Unfortunately, he couldn't make out what was written upon it in the darkness.
Carefully, he stepped around the obstacle and continued on. A few feet later he came to a door. He moved his hand slowly in the darkness, searching for the handle. His hand bumped lightly into it a moment later, and he turned his hand to grip it. Slowly, he began to test the handle and smiled when it turned easily in his hand.
He pushed the door open, hoping the hinges were oiled well enough not to creak, and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. A soft glow lit the room, coming from a fireplace on the far wall. The embers were dying out, but still provided enough light that he could make his way through the home without stumbling over what little furnishings there were.
After pausing for a moment to gain his bearings, George saw the most likely doorway that would lead to where the woman lay, hopefully sleeping now after a hard day of working in a field or some other exhausting task. He moved closer to the fireplace, warming himself briefly and allowing more chance for the woman to have dismissed any noise he might have made coming inside.
As he turned to crawl toward what he felt was her bedroom, George stopped dead in his tracks. The woman was standing in the doorway, leering down at him.
Chapter 6
"My Lord, I have news you might wish to hear," the man said.
The Black Knight turned his head to regard his minion, in the guise of a human male. Expectantly, he waited. "Well? Spill it!" he commanded, growing impatient with the delay.
The man approached one of the monitors, still not saying a word, and adjusted one of the dials below it. "There!" he exclaimed proudly with a sweeping gesture of his hand.
He turned his attention to the monitor, unsure what the supposed good news was. On the screen he could see the source of all his troubles as of late. The small group of individuals that George should have dispatched by now, walking through an apparent blizzard.
"I don't see anything good about this!" he growled, slamming his fist down on the arm of his thron
e.
"My Lord. You can now see them and track their movements," the man stammered, unsure of why the Black Knight was angry.
"Great! So now I can see them unraveling all that I've been trying to accomplish!" he roared in anger and frustration.
"Aren't you the least bit curious of how I was able to bring them up on your monitors?" the man asked, nervously.
"Whatever it is that you wish to say, spit it out now before I rip you to pieces!" he growled.
"We have a spy among them," the minion finally managed to say.
"A spy?"
"Yes, my Lord. One of the glorious creations that you commissioned for construction in the Factory," he said, slowly gaining his confidence back.
"That's not telling me much. Everything they build there is my design. Was it one of the insects? Did it latch on to their clothing? Is that how this spy managed to stay with them?"
"No, my Lord. It is something even more ingenious. Remember the girl that your mercenary brought from the other world?"
"Yes. What about her?" the Black Knight asked, growing curious.
"After the Factory supervisor sent her to Cemetery Hill, a duplicate was made of her," the man smiled.
"Why wasn't I informed of this earlier?" The Black Knight frowned. "And how did she get out of the Factory?"
"It was my doing. I used my human form to infiltrate the Factory. Posing as a worker, I programmed her. Then, after the guards sent everyone back to their cells for rest, I snuck back, turned her on, and let her out of the compound," the man said with satisfaction.
"Why would you do such a thing behind my back?" the Black Knight growled.
"I ... I was merely trying to do something to gain favor with you," he stammered. "I thought by doing this, that you might be inclined to make me your right hand man, so to speak." He was confused by the Black Knight's anger.
"Idiot! I could have had one of the others infest the machine first, so I could have control over it. What use is it to me if I can't do that? Sitting by and idly watching that group of mortals come between me and my goals is not something I care to do!" he snapped, smashing the minion with a monstrous backhand to the mid-section that sent him flying across the chamber.
He turned back to the monitor and adjusted the dial so that the image disappeared from view, then turned his attention to more pressing matters. The matter of his seemingly wayward mercenary.
His anger began to dissipate when he gazed back at the monitor he had been watching. A smile started to form on his face. A grin so wide that his hideously long and jagged teeth reflected back at him from the screen of the monitor. On the screen, his delinquent henchman had just been struck over the head and rendered unconscious by a beautiful, red-haired woman.
Chapter 7
When George regained consciousness, he was in a predicament he never thought he would find himself in ... that of the helpless victim. He tried to look around, but he was obviously tied to a tree. As he moved his head back and forth, the rough bark of the tree scraped against the back of it.
"Hello? Is someone out there?" he called out, trying his best to sound scared, even though he wasn't. He was just looking for the opportunity to free himself so he could make whoever had done this to him pay dearly.
He heard movement. It sounded as if it had come from behind him, but he wasn't sure. It was very dark out still, and the dim light filtering through the trees from the stars above did little to aid his vision.
A shadow flickered to his left. "Ah. You're awake now," a female voice said with a hint of amusement.
"What do you want from me?" George asked, trying to maintain a tone of nervousness.
"What do you think? I want to do the same thing to you that you intended to be my fate," she spat.
"You saw me from afar, found me attractive, and decided to whisk me away to marry me?" he asked sarcastically, trying to lower her defenses.
She moved in closer. So close, in fact, that he could feel her warm breath on his face. "Seriously?" she whispered.
"Yes. Of course!" he replied, hoping that she was buying his act.
She paused. For a moment, all he could hear was the gentle rush of air going in and out of her lungs. She raised one hand high above her head. It worked! She's going to set me free! he thought.
"Liar!" she screamed, bringing her hand down quickly.
However, it wasn't her hand that connected with George. The blow had been much sharper than that. Perhaps a tree branch. Perhaps ...
She continued to rain blows down upon George, making sure to cover his body in bruises, welts, and lacerations. Each successive blow landed in a different area of his body; first it was his arms, then his chest and abdomen, then his legs, and lastly upon his face.
He weathered her assault with the same stoic calm as he'd done when receiving beatings from his mother as a child. Not once did he cry out, even though his body was screaming in agony. Instead, like when he was younger, his anger continued to escalate. When the last blow had struck his face and she seemed to be done, he knew. It wasn't a stick that she'd been beating him with, it was his own whip! That insolent little bitch!
"Does that about sum up what you were going to do to me?" she sneered, her face just inches from his.
Despite the beating he had just taken, George didn't feel the slightest bit weakened. In fact, now that the beatings had stopped, he wasn't feeling much of anything. His body had gone numb, the only thing he could feel was his own quickly mounting rage, swelling up from within and consuming him.
His vision began to dim. Not from the beating or blood loss, but from his rage, which blotted everything out. Hatred boiled in his veins as the furor took over.
In the silence, the woman heard a snapping sound. It had come from somewhere nearby. Her first instinct was that she had been discovered, but moments later she realized what had caused the noise. By then it was too late.
George summoned up all of his hatred, the added adrenaline giving him supernatural strength. And with this strength he broke the ropes that bound him as if they were merely strings. Seconds later, he had his hands firmly around her throat, squeezing. The pressure was so great, that within a matter of seconds, her neck snapped.
George's vision began to clear about a half an hour later. The first hint of daylight was filtering through the trees. He was lying in the grass, the cool moisture of the dew stinging his wounds. He tried to prop himself up, but the agony he felt kept him in place.
He winced in pain as he raised one arm up to inspect it. His shirt was in tatters, and his arm wasn't in any better shape. He could see multiple cuts and bruises, traversing the entire length of his arm. He was sure, from the way he felt, that the rest of his body was in similar condition. What had happened? He searched his memory for even the vaguest clue.
The last thing he remembered was being inside the house where he'd seen the red-haired woman. Everything after that was a blank. How did I get outside? Or perhaps the better question would be, where am I?
He tried to turn his head to see if his horse was nearby, but the excruciating pain in his neck prevented him from doing so. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to shut out the pain. Then, he passed out.
Chapter 8
The image on the monitor was almost too dark to see. The Black Knight had watched as the woman bashed George on the top of his head, knocking him out. After that, she had picked him up like a sack of potatoes and carried him outside, out of the little town, and thrown his unconscious body onto the mechanical horse that George had used.
Had one of his ghostly minions infiltrated the village and possessed this woman, or was she merely lucky to have heard George sneaking into her house? How had she been so prepared for his arrival? If it was the doing of a minion, he should be able to send commands to her. Well, not exactly her, but to the demonic spirit inside of her body.
He focused his will, sending the telepathic command out, instructing the woman to kill George. Not before torturing him as George did
with his own victims first, though.
With the command sent out, he turned his attention back to the monitor. His view angle was changing. The image on the screen must be coming from one of his robotic insects, taken along by his minion so he could see through its eyes. His view of George was obscured now. All he could see was an increasingly enlarged image of the woman's ear. A few moments later, the image went black.
The Black Knight whacked the monitor with the back of his bony hand, thinking something was wrong with it that maybe a little jarring would fix. Within moments, the image on the screen began to clear. It was still dark, but somehow his view seemed slightly better, as if what he were seeing was being projected back to him differently.
Had the bug, if that's what it was, somehow gotten inside the woman's head and found a way to tap into her optic nerve? It would explain the wider view that he seemed to have now.
He watched as the woman mounted the mechanical horse and rode off into the forest. After a few moments, he could no longer make out anything on the monitor. He could still hear the rhythmic pounding of the horse's hooves upon the ground, but that was all.
Dismissing that monitor for now, the Black Knight turned his attention back to the screen his minion had dialed in a short while ago.
Not a moment too soon, either. He tilted his head back and roared with laughter, the maddening sound of it causing every impish creature in the chamber to cringe. For them, hearing the insane delight echoing through the room was something they feared. It usually ended badly, with one or more of them being killed.
It was not easy to kill a demon, even lesser ones like the impish creatures in the Black Knight's throne room, but he made it look as simple as blinking an eye. They never knew if their demise would be quick and relatively painless, or some unspeakable torment that could last for days, even weeks. The entire group of them decided to stick together, huddling in a mass in the farthest corner of the room, doing their best to look busy.
Desolace Omnibus Edition Page 40
